don't let it fool you
by coalmine
Summary: once you're here, time begins to creep on us. roxas and sora, implied akuroku. AU.


**disclaimer:** as if it's really necessary. not mine not mine not mine. and props to empires for their deliciously free CD and awesome lyrics.

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Sora is waiting for Roxas like he does every night, even though Sora runs around from roller hockey practice to Peace Club to Green Team, even though Roxas doesn't do anything after school but disappear. Every night, every worry comes in, but Sora knows he's just worrying uselessly, because Roxas has never not come home, but he always smells of cigarettes and of the vacant lot, and of Axel, who graduated when they were still just freshmen.

In all honesty, Sora doesn't mind Axel, and he certainly doesn't hate him, because Sora doesn't hate anyone. But he tries to. And Axel ruffles his hair and calls him Sora-bear and rattles through nonsense that he thinks Sora won't understand, shooting Roxas knowing looks like he's hilarious. Sora's not a child, he understands perfectly. Understands that after school Roxas is pressed up against a brick wall with Axel's hands on his chest and his mouth at his neck. Understands when Roxas comes home missing his belt. Understands when he comes home angry and bruised and refusing to talk. He understands, and he tries so hard to hate.

And he can't hate Axel himself, but hates his talk of 'someday' and 'another life' and he hates the idea of this future that'll take Roxas somewhere he can't reach - like Maryland, or New York - because Roxas has always been a city kid at heart. But he belongs in Monterey, he belongs in California. Roxas belongs with Sora. And while Axel may be his friend, he's not Roxas' brother, his blood, even if he does make Roxas smile in ways Sora is afraid of, because they're bitter smiles.

Maybe that's why he tries so hard, because every noise of real laughter is worth it. And maybe that's why it's not that hard to try to hate Axel.

So when Roxas stumbles in their room one night, smelling like the beach for once, and still smoking a cigarette, Sora smiles for them, for both of them, because Roxas won't stop crying even as he stubs out his cigarette on the top of their dresser. Sora can feel it on his cheeks when he meets him just inside their door as it swings shut, leaving them in their darkness, but Roxas isn't making a sound. He can feel it in Roxas' chest when he slips his arms around him. Roxas' heartbeat is like an echo of his own, and he can't help but smile into his neck, despite the hand squeezing at his lungs, because he hates to see Roxas cry.

"Happy birthday?"

"Don't be stupid, Sora," Roxas doesn't sound like he's crying, but Sora just tightens his hold on him, because he has never been able to stay pulled together and he can hear himself, and why isn't he strong enough, "It's your birthday, too."

"I know, but I didn't say it to you today. And you missed dinner…"

"Was Mom angry...?"

"Yeah… Dad only got back an hour before you did. We tried to wait for him at least, but…"

"You covered for me, didn't you."

"Duh… Said you had a project due tomorrow…"

There's a pause, but Sora doesn't mind, because the hands on his hips are all the thanks he needs, and until he doesn't really expect it, all the thanks he will get. But his mind is buzzing, and he just can't stay silent. "You're not leaving, are you?"

"Where would I go, Sora?"

"I dunno… Somewhere big with a billion arcades and someplace where the sand doesn't get into your sneakers." He's embarrassed at how much he sounds like a child, but clearing his throat seems to do no good. "I know you hate that… But, like, Boston, or D.C… or Quebec!"

"I'm not going anywhere, especially not to French Canada…"

"Yeah… but still…"

His fingers linger on Roxas' shoulders even after he's pulled away, and he only smiles as Roxas gives him a look. He knows Roxas enjoys the touch, even if he pretends not to. He can hear the rustle of the sheets as Roxas climbs into bed, and the following twin thuds of his shoes hitting the floor. Sora goes to the window to pull the curtains across, and he can see Axel sitting in his car in their driveway. Part of him wants to throw something, but it's a small part. It's with a disapproving look he stole from Roxas that Sora closes the curtains and climbs into bed with his brother. Limbs move on their own, habit to be so entangled you can't tell them apart in the dark.

He can feel Roxas shift to check the clock, and he waits, pressing his forehead to the others collarbone until he hears it, "Happy birthday, Sora."

But he's started his count as soon as the first syllable had left Roxas' lips – fifty six, fifty seven, fifty eight, fifty nine, sixty, again, one hundred twenty, one hundred twenty one, one hundred twenty two. One hundred twenty three.

"Happy birthday, Roxas."

Sora tries to neither laugh nor cry the next day when he can see the bruises along Roxas' ribs and his eye and Roxas packs a bag and announces he's going to Nashville with Axel, and maybe he'll be back and maybe he won't - but he's too weak, and does both. Axel salutes him from down in the driveway and Sora just stares, palms flat against the glass, and he thinks he doesn't understand anything anymore, because Roxas hates country music, and Sora learns to hate Axel.


End file.
